Found this today. I had forgotten about it. Strange after a day of sorting through past wreckage, going through a box of papers that needed to be sorted and shredded for years. I saw how unmanagable my life was then through over due bills, cell phone records with calls and texts at embarasing times, like 2am, 3am~ and I see how managable my life is now, and I am at peace and so releived for it. Just yesterday I was thinking how in my past, I needed every single one of the drugs and drinks I took. Every single one to get to the place where I don't need one more drink or drug anymore.
You always ask me about the bottle,
you write about it, plead about it,
want to know everything about it.
The bottle does not talk,
but I do. The voice is at the end of the bottle,
where lay every frustration, disappointment,
fear, wrong turns, days gone by too quickly
to only fade into the cruel lights of the worlds stage.
Faces that were loved, faces that were lost,
hearts that were stabbed to death with pins and needles.
Hope that burst open like a beautiful fire cracker,
only to fade into and dissipate in the evening sky.
I am at the end of the bottle, you are at the end of bottle,
the whole world is at the bottom of the bottle, when it
is quiet, when it is empty, when there is no where else to turn.
And when the bottom is reached, another is reached for,
to see what the next bottle may have to say.
But not the bottom of this bottle, the bottom of this bottle,
simply says--- you have reached the bottom of the bottle,
and there you find yourself.
September 3, 2008
The Second Chance
1 day ago